


Mating Milk

by Nilozot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Abuse, Claiming, Guilt, Human Castiel, Kink Meme, Knotting, Lactation, M/M, Mute Dean Winchester, Omega Dean, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilozot/pseuds/Nilozot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Castiel has seen some horrors in his job to shut down illegal underage milk bars, but the case of young Dean is one of the worst. He takes the boy into temporary custody for his own protection, but nothing can protect either one of them from the rampant pheromones of an unmated omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mating Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Full kink meme prompt here: http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/106475.html?thread=40102379
> 
> Shortened version:
> 
> Cas is the head of a police task force charged with shutting down illegal milk bars. The cops bust the milk bar, but no one has reported an Omega matching Dean's description missing and Dean himself has gone mute from the trauma of the last several months. Dean ends up coming home with Castiel. Cas finds it so hard to resist Dean's sweet milky tits, especially when the boy keeps offering them wordlessly and won't keep a shirt on. It'll be okay. Cas just has to make it until Monday morning when the pharmacy where they can get Dean milk stoppers again. He can do that. Cas totally slips up and breaks down about the fiftieth time Dean offers his breasts. After he's sated on Dean's milk, there doesn't seem to be any reason not to fuck Dean's obviously eager hole. Bonus- Cas quits his job on the police and moves with Dean to some place where it isn't illegal for him to mate an Omega as young as Dean.

The tip they receive points to an unusual part of town: Upscale. Wealthy. Private house. But the tip includes an untraceable zipped file containing a photo of a hooked-up boy, and that's all Detective Castiel needs to get a warrant. They burst into the place during a dinner party, which is satisfying because they can haul off all the child-abusing guests as well as the owners. And there in the center of the dining room is the poor drugged-out kid. It never ceases to turn Castiel's stomach, no matter how many of these underage titty bars he busts.

In this case the boy's maybe twelve or thirteen, barely old enough to lactate. He's a beautiful thing, with long eyelashes and skin artificially tanned to a deep walnut color, and huge perfect breasts with browner nipples emitting a sweet sticky smell. A field test of serum prolactin indicates his hormone levels are through the roof, so not only has the kid been off milk suppressants awhile, his captors have probably been shooting him up with synthlactin to increase production. For the party he'd been stripped, ball-gagged, drugged with some kind of dissociator – ketamine, Castiel's medical examiner guesses – and rope-tied to an especially creative remote-controlled stimulator. The flavor of omega milk famously changes according to the state of the omega's body, so the chair's rigged for both pain and pleasure to accommodate the whims of the guests. The boy is wearing an electroshock collar, a pressure cuff around his penis, electrodes pasted under his scrotum, and he's sitting on a variably rotating dildo shoved up his ass. There isn't a breast pump in sight, for part of the fun for milkrapers is to drink straight from the source. He's got a lot of bite marks around the nipples as well.

They gently remove him from the chair and lay him down on a couch in another room. The M.E. does the DNA kit right there, her gloved hands dispassionately roaming his body as fast as she can. The boy wakes up a bit during the exam, but doesn't respond, doesn't move, doesn't do anything but stare at Castiel with eerie green vacant eyes. This isn't uncommon; the M.E.'s a beta while Castiel is an alpha, which is why he's standing around during the exam in the first place. Omega victims are almost always calmer with an alpha around, preferably just one. Cas wonders what he sees, if he'll remember all this later, but the kid's probably tripping so hard he can't tell up from down.

The M.E. finishes with photographs of the boy's injuries, then she drapes a stray throw blanket over him and gets up to talk to Castiel off to one side. “No permanent injuries, so he doesn't need to go to the hospital. At least they lubed him up good. He just needs a lot of rest, TLC, a hefty dose of antilactin, and about a million years of therapy. You got an ID, so we can send him home?”

Castiel checks his phone on the slim chance of a new fed database alert, and frowns at her. “No ID. No green-eyed kids reported missing within the appropriate age range, at least over the past two years. They might have bought him on the black market.”

“Yeah, a lovely one like that would bring a pretty penny. Or his parents just didn't give a shit. Poor kid, there's no way to know until he wakes up and starts talking.”

“How long do you think that will be?” Castiel asks.

“Bout an hour until he's coherent, I'd say. What are you going to do with him? He needs individual foster care. You can't send an overlactating omega into a group home, it would hardly be an improvement over a tittyrape bar. He'd be forcibly bonded by morning.”

“I'm aware, Doctor,” Castiel says evenly. “I'm licensed for temporary care, so I'll take him for the rest of the weekend. If he's not ID'ed within a few days, social services will find him a more permanent home. But this way I can call in the family name as soon as he tells me.”

“Another one, Detective? You know, if you smiled more, I might actually think you have a bleeding heart.” She smirks and packs up her equipment and the DNA kit, then presses a baggie with an antilactin patch packet and some pre-loaded syringes into his hand. “Here's the acute suppressants. Three days of injections followed by the standard patch. Still's going to take a week to work, you know, with those hormone levels and overstimulated ducts.”

“Yes, I remember from the other children.”

The M.E. gives him a long once-over, to Castiel's annoyance. “Sure you can handle it?” she says. “Even _I_ can smell him all the way over here, and I'm just a beta.”

Castiel turns to stare her down, as both an alpha and as her superior officer. “I've been thoroughly vetted, and have taken temporary custody of over a dozen omega minors over the past four years without incident. Run the boy's DNA before the kit, maybe there's a childlock on file somewhere. That will be all, Doctor.”

After she leaves, he assigns another officer to look after the boy while the crime scene is secured. The owners of the house immediately lawyered up, so there aren't even interviews left to do tonight. After an hour he's almost finished, so he wanders back over to see how the child's doing. The boy's less drooly than before, but he still does nothing but watch Castiel with a fixed gaze.

“Can you tell me your name?” Castiel asks. The boy says nothing, but his eyes widen in fear. His captors likely threatened him with horrific punishments for escape or revealing his identity. “It's all right, I'm a police detective. I just want to return you to your home, if that's possible. Just your first name would be a help.”

The boy's only response is to drop the blanket and thrust his chest out towards Castiel. The breasts are noticeably bigger, stretched taunt by the overproduced milk inside. Cas reaches out and pulls the blanket back up, trying not to make skin contact. “No, no more of that. Officer, can you run upstairs and get him some clothes? A shirt, anything.”

As the junior officer leaves, Cas turns back to the boy. Already he's got the breasts back out, holding one in his hand and rolling the nipple between his fingers. A little milk is squeezed out into his hand, and he offers it to Castiel, like it's a grocery store food sample. Castiel shakes his head no and sighs, and decides to take another tack.

“Do you want to go home with me tonight?” he asks. Cas is aware that the question will be taken the wrong way, but he can fix that misconception later.

The boy's eyes regard him blankly, then drop down as he obediently nods. He must sense that there's no true choice, either as a captive or as a minor ward of the state.

“Do you think an omega should answer his alpha's questions?”

All that gets is a quickening of the boy's breath, and he studies the floor more intently.

“Here,” Cas says, pulling out his notebook. “You don't have to say anything. Just write it down for me. Please. Your first name.” He decides not to press any harder than that, for the boy's clearly too traumatized for an interrogation. To Cas's surprise, though, he takes the pen and paper, and clutching the pen in his fist like a much younger child, he scratches out a shaky _DEAN._

“Dean,” Castiel repeats. “Very good, thank you. This will be helpful.”

He types the new information into the database alert on his phone, and then takes another longer look at the shivering child in front of him. The blanket won't stay on, and now he's squeezing both engorged nipples and letting the milk drip down. The smell is saccharine and overwhelming. Compelling, as it would be to any alpha, unconsciously broadcasting that the boy is unmated. His captors would have been careful about that, no matter the temptation to claim him, for the aphrodisiac quality of the milk is drastically lessened once an omega is bonded. Except to the alpha mate, of course.

On impulse, Cas reaches out to his chin and gently tips Dean's head up to force him to look him in the eyes. “I'm Detective Castiel. Most people just call me by my last name, or sometimes shorten it to Cas. I'll be taking care of you for a few days while we sort out where your family is.” Touching sexual assault victims is against protocol, but Cas wants to break through the boy's silence and fear. He senses that despite the bouts of overstimulation and forced orgasm, Dean has likely been starved of most human contact for weeks, if not months. Another horrific trick of the milktraders, for isolation heightens the pheromone response when the omega victims do come into contact with alphas.

Dean seems to rest his chin on Castiel's hand for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then he stretches his hand out, eyes closed again so it's a blind reach, and smears the sweet milk down Cas's cheek. The touch and seductive aroma are like a fire on his face. He experiences an incredible urge to lick it, for just the tiniest taste. Cas gulps and shoves down the unbidden response through sheer force of will. He's a grown adult, dammit, and this is an innocent child victim in front of him.

Cas wipes away the liquid with a sleeve, careful not to get it anywhere near his mouth. It's going to be a long few days until social services is able to step up and find Dean a more appropriate home.

 

* * * *

 

Once the officer brings down some oversized shirts to cover Dean up, Cas drives him home to his spartan condo. Castiel never chose to take a mate, instead throwing himself into his work with a righteous fury. He's always thought that his status as an alpha was better utilized by serving the community, instead of wasting his attention on distractions like a personal bondmate and children. But occasionally the biological realities of being an unmated alpha are mighty inconvenient. Like when you're inclosed in a few cubic feet of automobile with an alluring lactating omega in the passenger seat, who keeps stripping off his shirt and offering you a taste. Cas gets a lot of dirty looks all the way home. He invokes his police prerogative and speeds the entire way.

If he can get the boy to bathe, wear a full set of clothes and pump off the excess milk, likely Cas's inappropriate sexual arousal will be reduced. Castiel still has a box of old clothes in various sizes and a hand pump from his previous young charges. All of them had come out of the shock of their captivity once they were transferred to a safe environment and clothed, fed, cleaned up, and given the antilactin. Castiel didn't have any reason to believe Dean would be any different. They just need to be reminded that they are human beings – ordinary teenagers with all hope for the future intact, and not doomed to remain tortured milkbags the rest of their days.

Dean really isn't cooperating.

He backs away from the running shower with a formless mewl. Cas has never seen that behavior before, and it's concerning. Was the boy tortured with water somehow, perhaps for the sensory effect, or a deprivation tank? He can't tell because Dean won't say anything. All he does is offer himself up, again and again, and it's slowly driving Cas crazy.

“It's only warm water, you can turn it off whenever you want. I won't touch the knob.”

Dean's shuffled back all the way to the corner of the bathroom, and his only response is to unbutton his shirt. It's soaked all the way through already, and his nipples are stretched so tight it must be painful.

“You can pump in there and let it go down the drain. Might make you feel better,” Castiel says, hoping that's an enticement. But the boy looks at him with renewed horror, and grabs a cup off the counter to mimic catching the milk. Understandable, Cas thinks; if you've been tortured for a bodily fluid, naturally you'd be loath to throw it away.

“Okay, fine. How about a bath, if the shower is too much? A few inches of water and some soap?”

Dean's got the whole shirt off again, and points at Cas and then the tub, as if to say, _Only if you come in with me._ The tiny room is saturated with the boy's luscious pheromones, and Cas's semi-hard from the scent alone. He takes a step away, rejecting the implicit sexual offer with a firm shake of his head.

“No. I am not your mate, Dean. All right, I give up, no shower. We'll cover your scent with clothes. I'll get you another shirt to wear.”

That one doesn't stay on either. While Cas distracts himself by fixing up a mountain of buttered pasta for the boy – every overlactating omega he's ever taken care of has been ravenous for calories – Dean sits at the kitchen table and uses the hand pump to carefully fill a tall glass with every extractable drop. He shimmies out of the shirt around the time he switches to the second breast and drops it under his chair. By the time Cas turns around with a huge bowl of noodles, he's confronted with a half-naked kid with perfectly suckable nipples staring at him, and a neat glass of delectable-smelling milk sitting right at his own place setting.

Cas closes his eyes for a couple of seconds to get a hold of himself. “Shirt back on, Dean.” He hands the bowl to him and bends over to retrieve the shirt, which Dean flops onto his arms but does not button. Cas sits down at another chair, studiously ignoring the glass across the table. He can toss it later, so as not to agitate the boy.

Dean digs into the noodles with obvious happiness, and it's the first thing so far that he's positively responded to. Cas smiles at the progress. When Dean's finally reached his satiating limit of carbs, he pushes back from the table and scoots his chair over next to Cas. Then with slow deliberation, he takes Cas by the hand and pulls it up to cup his warm breast. A thank you. An offering.

Castiel forces himself to rip the hand away. But to his horror, he realizes that he doesn't want to. He _wants_ to keep his fingers there, to squeeze and roll the nipple so the milk starts to run, to lean forward and breathe in the sweet milkiness, to lap it up and latch onto that beautiful aureola and push the mute boy to the floor and… Cas slams his eyes shut all over again, but it doesn't cut off the intoxicating smell, or the feedback buzzing from that brief physical touch.

Finally he faces Dean again and manages to stutter, “No. I won't… I won't do that. You are too young to mate, Dean, me or anyone. What those people did to you was wrong. Do you understand?”

The boy doesn't indicate one way or the other. He just scoots back to inhale more pasta, shirt dangling wide open. His breasts are bulging again, even though it's only been a few minutes since a full pumping. How on earth the kid doesn't get dehydrated is a mystery, Castiel thinks absurdly. That reminds him, though, so he gets up for a pitcher of water, plus the antilactin meds so they will at least start to reduce Dean's production.

Dean _shrieks_ when he sees the needle. Cas is so startled he almost drops the meds. The boy leaps up and backs away in terror to the wall, as far as he can go without actually dashing from the room. Cas places the syringe down on the table and holds his blank hands up in a peace offering.

“It's only medicine that will stop the milk. Stop your breasts from hurting. You remember taking suppressants from before? A patch on the arm, remember?”

Dean shakes his head 'no.' It's unclear to Cas whether he's saying he doesn't remember the drugs every adolescent omega takes – given free by the state, even – or whether he's still objecting to the needle. In either case, Cas weighs the prospect of holding him down and forcing the injection on him. He could do it, but such an action would destroy whatever small measure of trust he'd built up with the boy.

“Do you want the milk to stop?” he asks softly, hands still in the air.

How can the answer be no? But Dean doesn't nod yes, he just looks terrified again, as if making a decision was too much. Maybe because he thinks Castiel is his alpha, he doesn't want to be given a choice at all. He wants Cas to make the choice for him, but make the right one every time.

“We need to make the milk stop, Dean,” Cas says. “You can't go out in this state, unclaimed and smelling like this. Someone else will attack you. Will you let me make it stop?”

Dean shakes his head again, vehemently, without taking his eyes off the syringe.

“What about the patch? Will you let me put that on you? No needle.”

Dean slides down the wall to the floor, and buries his face in his arms. Cas decides to leave him there for moment while he gets the patch, and hides the needle from sight. When he returns Dean hasn't budged from his spot crouching on the floor, and is rocking slightly. It can't go on like this, Cas decides, and before he does anything else he sits down next the boy and pulls him into his arms.

“Shh, it'll be okay. I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you. I just want to do what is best for you.” He keeps repeating words like that, even though it's possible it's not true. It's possible that Dean will never not be damaged, that things will never be okay for him ever again. Castiel could be kidding himself that he alone can make it even a little bit better. He has no choice but to try. Dean leans in to the touch and rubs his face on Cas's chest, but he doesn't cry; he just lets Cas go on blabbing and stroking his hair and neck.

At last Cas pulls away, although he's still got an arm around Dean's shoulders. He cups Dean's neck in order to look him in the face, and again the touch produces a thrilling endorphin frisson. “Do you think you can manage wearing the patch? You can trust me, Dean.”

He covers his eyes by burying it in Cas's chest again, but holds out an arm. Dean's shirt is still hanging open and Cas can feel the firmly filled breasts rubbing through his own thin shirt fabric. Cas swiftly rips open the pack before the kid changes his mind and affixes it underneath one of the loose sleeves. With Dean in this state, the patch will take days to kick in because the dose is so low, but it's symbolic to Castiel anyway. It's progress that Dean is willing to listen to him and take action to heal himself.

“Come on,” he tells the boy. “I think it's time for both of us to get some sleep. We'll feel better in the morning.” Cas pulls Dean to his feet, but he's still clingy, still rubbing the breasts against Cas's body and offering himself in a more oblique way. Cas hopes to hell that he's right, and sleep will cure some of their ills, both of them.

 

* * * * *

 

He's not right, as it turns out. The next day is just as much a nightmare. Dean still refuses to talk, and for the most part won't even nod or mime to express his wishes. He did get up several times over the night to pump and drink water, so Castiel is greeted with a fridge filled with multiple glasses of the milk by morning. Dean still refuses to shower, and the whole apartment is now saturated with the heady aroma of unmated omega. And to top it off, he keeps taking off his shirt, again and again, not only to pump but to offer his pretty tits to Cas. He leans in when they're eating at the table, exposes himself whenever Cas expresses the slightest disapproval, nestles up when Cas puts a movie on the TV. No matter how many times Cas asks or cajoles him to wear a shirt, it always comes off within ten minutes.

By the end of the day, Castiel knows he's reached his limit. Tomorrow is Monday and he'll take the boy straight to social services first thing in the morning, and let the unaffected betas there deal with him. He's no closer to identifying Dean's real family anyway. So he leaves Dean in the living room with TV and an ample supply of pizza, and shuts himself in his own room for the evening.

Once he's in private Castiel strips down himself, with the full intention to masturbate his frustrations away. He vows to think only of some pretty beta woman while doing this, to distance himself as far as possible from the enticing child abuse victim whose hormones, no fault to either one of them, have pushed Castiel to the brink. But when he slides his hand down his cock, the base of it is abnormally swollen, sticky and tender. He looks down at himself with horror, suddenly aware of what is happening and how far gone he is. That _he's_ been sending out pheromones all day today too. He needs to get the boy out of here _now_ , to his M.E., to a neighbor, or call 911, handcuff himself to the bed, _something_ …

Dean comes into the room. There's no lock on the door. He's not wearing a shirt, or any other clothing for that matter. He doesn't look like he particularly wants this, but it's simply his duty, or his fate. Castiel can't bring himself to move, though, so when Dean walks over to where Cas is sitting on the bed, and grips the back of his head and pulls him to his breast, Cas opens his mouth and complies. The sweet milk gushes in, more than any baby mouth could possibly handle, and Castiel gulps it all down. The effect of it shoots straight to his cock, which swells so much he can feel it stretching out his balls and between his legs. Cas doesn't care, not so long as his milk flows, through his mouth and spreading throughout his body like a warm parasite infecting every nerve.

And the milk _is_ his _,_ he knows that with certainty now – everything related to the boy was his the minute his stepped into the apartment. His omega, and Cas will claim every last drop. Without pausing in his sucking he swivels Dean around to lie on the bed. Dean's compliant and relaxed, and his legs fall open and invite Cas to settle between them. His eyes are cemented shut and he's breathing in quick but even gasps, and with what little brainpower Cas can divert to think about him, he knows Dean has his own set of hormones coursing through him, alien to the alpha experience. Dean's body belongs to him too, to shelter and protect or fuck at will, but the milk is the priority first.

As he taps out the first breast and switches sides, Cas reaches between them and eases in three fingers. Almost instantly the milk from the second breast seems to change, flowing hard with a sharper tang and even more arousing. The boy's so relaxed Cas barely registers any resistance, and behind the rings of muscle his fingertips detect the telltale viscous padding waiting for his swollen knot. He adds another finger as the breast drains down, and in response Dean flexes his hips impossibly wide, his body beckoning for bigger, _more._

The seemingly inexhaustible supply of milk finally runs down, and Cas nips harder at Dean's nipple to urge more. That causes Dean to cry out and curl his fingers in Cas's hair to coax him up. Cas lets go at last, with a little regret, and kisses his way up Dean's clammy skin to reposition himself higher up on his young mate's body. Dean's still floppy and open, except for his arms clinging tightly to Cas's back and neck, as if he's afraid Cas will abandon him at this critical juncture, now that the milk is used up. But of course Castiel doesn't, because stopping now is unthinkable to his endorphin-saturated brain. The boy is _his,_ and there's only one way to make that permanent, to imprint himself so thoroughly on Dean's body that every cell will be marked for him and him alone, no other alpha. Forever.

He pushes into Dean, slowly and only a bit at a time so as not to shock him out of his analgesic state. It's nothing like regular sex; there's very little friction and no impetus to build up to orgasm. Just from the milk, Cas is already at a steady plateau of satisfaction and pleasure. The only drive here is to get the swollen glands in his cock to meet its omega counterpart inside Dean's ass, and the bond will be cemented for life. It's a shocking size to get inside such a small frame, however, so Cas moves in tiny increments, stretching Dean slowly with a gentle ebb and flow. At the end Dean's eyes are wide, amazed at what's inside him, and for some reason murmured encouragements begin to pour out of Cas: _You're doing so well, just a little more, we're almost there…_

He slides forward the final few millimeters, and when the glands meet Cas releases a gush of fluid, and they both unexpectedly come. That's the closest analogy, although in truth the feeling is unprecedented to Cas's experience, a mixture of orgasm, comfort, devotion, and triumphant possessiveness, all locked to this sole other human being. When Dean's convulsions quiet down, Cas notices that it's sticky between their chests, and with a finger he tastes the new round of milk leaking from Dean's breasts. It's richer than before, and just a lick prompts a wave of affection and protectiveness.

Only at that moment does Castiel wake up enough to realize what he's done.

He rolls to one side as best he can with the two of them locked together. Dean's an exhausted mess of sweat, milk and saliva. The boy is still gripping Cas's shoulders like a lifeline, and seems so impossibly young and overwhelmed that Cas wants to weep. He's become exactly the sort of person that he throws in prison every day, the kind of alpha that will not only drink underage milk for the rush, but rapes and bonds a child without an ounce of self-restraint. There's no going back from this, no way to undo the damage he's done. He can't even ask what Dean wants, because how can a rapist turn around and dump all the decisions on his traumatized victim?

They lay there silently with their arms around each other, with Cas stroking Dean's face and hair, trying to cut through the fog of hormones and decide what to do. Dean's just as mute as before, but not agitated. Just...tired. When the swelling goes down enough to extricate himself, Cas gets up and takes the solemn boy by the hand, and leads him to the bath. Dean's obedient now, possibly more shell-shocked than before. He fills the tub up with warm water and the two of them get in, and Cas gently washes down Dean's body with a rag. When he's done Cas leans back against the side of the tub with Dean curled up in his arms, and the boy's tension drifts out into the water as he falls asleep.

Cas closes his eyes but doesn't drift off himself. He steels himself for what he knows he must do.

There's only three options here, his inner cop voice tells him. One, try to hide the bonding and get permanent custody of the boy. This is practically doomed to failure, as even a beta will be able to smell that Dean is no longer an unmated omega, as stated in his records. Two, turn himself in and accept punishment for rape, assault, and involuntary bonding of a minor. If Dean's family isn't located, however, in that case Dean will end up in foster care. He'll be bonded without the possibility of protection from a mate, and at extraordinarily high risk for further abuse. He'll be convinced – correctly – that Castiel has abandoned him, just as everyone else has used him and cast him aside.

The third option is for Castiel to take Dean and run. He's tracked many offenders, so he knows where they go for legal protection, and how the successful ones disappear. He doesn't have a passport for the boy, but that too is not difficult to acquire. He'd have to give up his career, his freedom, his country, and any possibility of a mate of equal status – all for a child who doesn't speak and may never be able to function well again, no matter how much love and care he receives.

But looking down at the sleeping form on his chest, Cas knows Dean is his responsibility. He could think of it as his punishment, or a form of imprisonment, but that would breed resentment against the very person he wants to save. Who deserves the same future as any kid, one with an education and a family and a decent bondmate. Health and happiness, isn't that his job too, not just abstract high ethics?

 _You break it you buy it,_ Castiel thinks. You take a damaged person home and mate them, they're yours. Forever. He kisses Dean and gently wakes him up to put him in their bed, and begins to pack.


End file.
